The Drama of Sin and Redemption
by Hikari Daeron
Summary: The bells tolled for the damned, too. It's just that no one ever thought to mention it. #Mello-centric, Mello reflecting on L, Matt, his journey; mentions of MelloxMatt, hints of MelloxL; for Shadow over Egypt.#


**Hikari:** What – _what_!? I'm _alive_!? I'm _writing_?! How long has it been – four months?! _Eight_?! Well blesséd be the day I get my ass in gear! –_collapses at the feet of the readers_– O Hear Ye, Reader! I am in my final year of high school – accepted into two colleges!!! – and a certain _Angela and MiniMix _tends to keep me over-occupied with certain _role-playing_. Forgive me.

**An Author's Side Note:** Inspired by "Violet Hill"off of the amazing new Coldplay CD. Lyrics are extremely applicable to this fic, actually, I highly recommend listening to this song and reading _Mikanis_' _Welcome to Wammy _and _Morning Star _because those are what the lyrics most reminded me of most.

**Warnings:** There are religious themes as well as mentioned shonen-ai (i.e. homosexuality) – nothing explicit, but it's mentioned. Don't read if you're offended.

Dedicated to _Shadow Over Egypt_, because I love her practically more than anyone, and her half-finished very-very-_very _belated birthday story is sitting on my desktop still. I hope you like this – I worked really, really hard – and a very, _very _Merry Christmas darling. _I_ should try calling _you_ this time!! Haha!!

Disclaimer: Hikari Daeron does not own _Death Note _or any affiliations. Any ideas and themes in this are her own. Many thanks to _Mikanis _for inspiration and the Latin phrases and various prayers (although not "The Lord's Prayer", that was found online).

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**The Drama of Sin and Redemption**

The bells tolled for the damned too. It was just that no one ever thought to mention it.

_Our Father,_

He was knelt; always, as always, he was knelt.

The curious not-child-but-not-yet-man that was known only as "Mello" to the world knelt in front of the tormented figure of the Virgin, the tearless face crying in an agony that only a mother could know. His head was bowed, but his lips moved in silent prayer.

It was night; it was night, and it was England, and Mello knew he was going to die.

_who art in heaven,_

Not immediately, of course. Mello didn't expect to walk out of the church and fall upon the snow in a coughing fit and suddenly _cease_. But his death was coming soon, and he was preparing to embrace it.

It was a long and dark December, and rightfully, Mello should have been in Japan. But he had returned to the place he had grown up in just long enough to say goodbye. Truthfully, Mello didn't return to the Wammy's House, per se – while it had raised him, that was not what he wanted to say goodbye to.

Mello had returned to L's grave.

_Hallowed be thy Name._

Mello rose from his prayer, lifting his crucifix to his lips and pressing his lips against it delicately. He let it slip through his fingers and rest upon the black coat that he wore, the faux fur trim shifting to accommodate the pendant. He exhaled, watching his breath swirl in the air before lifting himself from off the ground. Automatically his leather-donned hand went back to stroke the rosary beads that he wore as a necklace. (_How often did Rod laugh at him for it? A juxtaposition of sin and redemption – had Mello not committed the Seven Deadly Sins in the name of Christ?_)

_Thy kingdom come._

(_But then again, hadn't so many others?_)

_Thy will be done,_

Mello watched the figure of tearless Mary before turning, footsteps echoing in the silent church. Figures of Christ himself along with his disciples shone in the stain-glass windows as if watching him, wondering where his footsteps would lead.

He often wondered that, too.

_On earth as it is _

The blonde walked through the church and threw open the large wooden doors, shivering as the cold winter air came full-force, tossing his hair back and pressing against him. It whirled, tugging at his hair, his coat, anything it could find, coaxing him to come deeper. It made him want to run straight back into the arms of the waiting Mother.

_in heaven._

Mello resisted the urge, placating the wind and charging forward, head-first. He shivered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he charged into the wind. It was nights like this that made him long for the sun of Los Angeles.

When Mello was part of the mafia, he was infamous for donning – not just attractive, but _physically _– hot leather no matter how high the temperature was. Admittedly, he would cut down when it was overbearing – practically half-naked, at times – but he would refuse to let go of the sticky material.

Rod was the only one who would dare poke fun at him, albeit teasing and surprisingly not malicious. He told him he was Temptation, whispery and willow, winking in and out of existence in the LA sun. "For lovin' the Catholic faith so much," he told him one day, "you sure do dress like Lust."

_Give us this day our daily bread._

LA reminded Mello of L, too. After all, he had his pick of mafia cities to go to in the United States. He had left Wammy's House before Near had. He could have gone wherever he wanted.

But Mello had chosen LA because of the story that L personally had told him about – the Beyond Birthday murder case. (Mello only just remembered B: hunched over and pale, a broken imitation of L himself.) It wasn't the case that was important – L had talked to Mello as _L,_ not as one of the older boys, not as a random stranger, and he had told him three stories. This just happened to be the one that the one that stuck with Mello the most, and so he vowed to visit the city where it had happened, haunt L's footsteps in a desire to follow in them.

_And forgive us our trespasses,_

He couldn't remember the first time he'd seen L; he'd been practically a baby, snatched out of the hands of the Russian government before they could resurrect the Soviet Union. But he _could _remember the first time he knew L as L. He put it together quite easily when he was about six or seven, and he had asked, quite simply, if it was true.

_As we forgive those who trespass against us._

L had not denied it; he'd merely smiled and patted the little blonde before continuing on his strawberry gateau. Mello, pleased that he had deduced the truth all by himself, went to tell Matt that he'd been right all along.

Oh, and Matt…

_And lead us not into temptation_

Mello felt a shiver run through him, one completely unconnected to the dancing wind pressing at him on all sides. It started at the nape of his neck and made a beeline for his loins, tingling despite the frigid air.

Matt and Mello had first had sex about a month ago, on the eve that Mello had stumbled into their shared apartment with his face half-torn off from his mafia hideout's explosion. Matt had kissed him; it had been an awkward, gentle and yet desperate move, made to convey worry and relief and affection all in one. And Mello, despite his throbbing face and utmost pain, had responded in the only way he'd known how. He'd stripped them of their clothes and pounded the other into the couch.

Until then Matt had been a virgin, searching for him for four years without _outright _searching for him, knowing that Wammy's would have been on his tail. Mello had given into carnal lust years before, knowing full-well how he felt about Matt and how he'd _always _feel about Matt.

_But deliver us from evil._

They had made it a regular habit, taking turns on who would lead the other depending on how they felt. Mello had felt the smug burn of irony as Matt entered him every time, and every time he did the same. He never took off his crucifix – Matt had tried to, once, and Mello had hit him for it – and sometimes, he'd recite a prayer while in the act. Over and over again, he would mutter various Latin phrases: "_Dimitte nobis debita nostra, salva nos ab igne inferiori. Perduc in caelum omnes animas, praesertim eas, quae misericordiae tuae maxime indigent_." It creeped Matt out, but Mello ignored him.

He had his reasons.

(_Oh, Lord Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of Hell; Lead all souls to heaven, especially those who are in need of your mercy._)

He needed all the mercy he could get.

_For thine is the kingdom,_

Mello could never tell Matt that, despite being seeped in what the Bible had deemed as sin (_I am a heretic, I have sinned. I have gazed upon the forbidden flesh of my fellow men with lust in my heart, and I am damned. I am a heretic, Father Forgive_), he was being redeemed. Matt _saved_ him. Even though it was a sin, Mello was being _saved_.

For all of his words, Mello _loved _Matt, and his love excused the lust that drove their first act of defiance.

Father, Forgive.

_and the power,_

The air was still and cold in the conservatory. Mello shivered and pulled his coat around him tighter, glancing around. Potted plants lined the sills and floor, withered and dead, unable to survive the English winter. Various tools lay scattered, a pile of mulch and compost on one side of the glass house. Mello's footsteps were unheard, muffled by the thick and rich earth that was the floor of the conservatory. He reached the northern most corner, where a large stone lay as a marker. There was nothing engraved into it.

Mello knelt, and began.

and the glory,

(_Dear L, perhaps it was wrong, so wrong, but I suppose I loved you._)

He was knelt; always, as always, he was knelt. Before, he would pray. Now… now, he would speak.

(_You were strange, and you were awkward, but God, I really think I did love you. Maybe do love you, in the present tense. I don't know. You used to say that all emotions are fleeting and subjective, the product of chemicals being released in our brains, doomed to fade eventually._)

It was night; it was night, and it was England, and in the cold conservatory, Mello spoke of love.

(_Maybe that's what happened to my feelings for you, but on the other hand, maybe not. Even as I kneel here, I wonder what you were thinking, in the final moments that you died. Was it disappointment? Or maybe even triumph? Were you __**surprised **__to find yourself dying?_)

Mello had never told Matt outright that he loved him. The word itself was awkward, uncomfortable. There was a silent, mutual agreement that neither would speak the word until it was time for them to die.

(_What's it you once called me? 'Little Angel'? It's not November right now, L. It's December, past my birthday, even. Can I tell you what I did for my birthday? Let me tell you, L. For my birthday, L, Matt and I had sex until neither of us could move, L. Can you call __**that **__a mere reaction of molecules, L?_)

But Mello had conveyed some of the sense of how he felt. Unable to murmur prayers, unable to think of anything but the feeling, the smell, the taste, the sense of Matt_Matt__**Matt**__, _Mello had uttered a single word.

(_Oh, but of course not. That is only bodily lust and hormones. Right, L. Right. Father Forgive for giving into such temptation._)

_Mihael._

(_You mocked __**everything **__I believed in. You said religion was necessary for society but you refused to acknowledge the legitimacy in any one, or take on any as your own. You mocked my parents for naming me after an angel, and even more that they lived in Eastern Europe and yet believed in __**Catholicism**__._)

Matt _knew_. The moment he heard the precious name, Matt knew what it was, and what it meant. And as the blonde collapsed into his tired arms, he had pressed his nose to his cheek and whispered a single word himself.

(_Why, God __**damn **__it, did you always mock __**everything **__I believed in?!_)

_Mail_.

(_… why, God damn it, did I still love you for it?_)

And Mello knew, too. He relaxed in the arms of his redhead lover, and drifted to sleep.

(_I loved you for the longest time, L. Maybe I always will, but tonight…_)

Rightfully, Mello should have been in Japan, repeating those very actions to that very redhead. But Mello was in Winchester instead. There was a church next to the orphanage known as Wammy's House, and affiliated with that Wammy's style church, a conservatory.

(_Tonight, I…_)

And Mello had had a purpose in returning.

(_Goodbye, L._)

Mello had come to say goodbye.

_for ever and ever._

The bells tolled for the damned, too. ("_Do you hear the bells, Light-kun? Do you hear the bells?_") It was just that no one ever thought to mention it. And on that long and dark December night, when Mihael Keehl was knelt, the bells were tolling for him.

Mello knew he was going to die. Maybe not in that moment, but…

(_I'm sorry Matt. I never meant for you to be killed._)

… but…

_Amen._

Mello stood from L's grave and turned. He didn't look back.

One month later, a church burned.

_Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo. _

_Amen._

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Hikari: The final Latin was "The Lord's Prayer," used throughout the entire thing. Muchos gracias to Lily, Compy and Eric for the feedback!!!


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